


A Thousand Shards of Glass

by PermanentCarmine



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Dancing, M/M, One Shot, Sad, Soppy, but then again isn't les mis always?, just dealing with feels, overdramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:30:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PermanentCarmine/pseuds/PermanentCarmine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The melody from the piano has turned into a waltz and Grantaire gets a sudden urge to dance. He casts a glance at the man next to him. He’s quite certain that under other circumstances, Enjolras would never conform to Grantaire’s foolish notions, but tonight he has drunk more than he usually allows himself and if Grantaire’s lucky, he might just say yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Shards of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago and found it again today. This is a one shot I wrote to deal with my feels after watching the movie. I listened to the song Bringing the Body Back Home by the Real Tuesday Weld (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBn1DixuMcE) and this scene popped into my head.

Some candles are still burning on the tables and windowsills of café Musain, but most burned out hours ago, and no one has bothered to light them again. Grantaire knows they should all have left by now, but time seems to have slipped out of their hands and out into the night, swallowed by the starless darkness there. A soft melody from the piano mingles with the whispered conversations and occasional laughter from the rest of the students, who have spread out in smaller groups around the room. Whoever is playing is doing it with more feeling than precision, but that doesn’t surprise Grantaire at this time of the evening. They’ve all had their fair share of wine. Even Enjolras clasps an empty bottle in his hands. Enjolras and Grantaire have been sitting next to each other for most of the evening, but their conversation died awhile ago. The melody from the piano has turned into a waltz and Grantaire gets a sudden urge to dance. He casts a glance at the man next to him. He’s quite certain that under other circumstances, Enjolras would never conform to Grantaire’s foolish notions, but tonight he has drunk more than he usually allows himself and if Grantaire’s lucky, he might just say yes.

Grantaire gets to his feet and offers his hand to Enjolras, who looks at it quizzically before meeting Grantaire’s eyes.

”Dance with me.” Enjolras perplexed expression shifts and his lips curve up in a small smile that becomes wider when he grabs his friend’s hand.

When Grantaire pulls Enjolras to his feet they end up chest to chest and hands clasped tight between them. Maybe their bodies are like magnets that must touch if they get too close to each other, either that or the wine has stolen Grantaire’s muscle control and he pulled to hard. Either way, they’re both drunk for a change and Enjolras doesn’t immediately step away. Their breaths blend and Grantaire can feel Enjolras chest heave with every warm exhale. It hits Grantaire then, that they might not get many more moments like this, and there’s suddenly nothing more important than Enjolras breath and eyes and lips and fingers entwined with his. To be honest, he’s not sure there ever was anything more important. When he meets Enjolras’ eyes again the smile there is faltering and if Grantaire didn’t know better he would have thought the other man was blushing. Grantaire clears his throat and takes a step back. For a moment he could have sworn that Enjolras looked disappointed at that, but it takes barely a second for him to smile again. Grantaire takes Enjolras right hand in his left and lets his other hand slip to Enjolras shoulder, expecting him to take the lead, because he’s their leader in everything else and it seems to make sense that he should lead Grantaire in this too, like he does with everything else in Grantaire’s life. And though he would never admit it, he might be looking forward to Enjolras’ hand on his waist a bit.

At first Grantaire thinks that it might be the somewhat mis-paced piano music that makes Enjolras clumsy, or maybe the alcohol, but even that considered, Grantaire has never had anyone ever stumble and step on his toes this many times in such a short time. There’s only one explanation: Enjolras is a terrible dancer.

”You’re hopeless,” Grantaire chuckles as Enjolras steps on his foot again.

”I’m drunk.”

”You’re hopeless even for being drunk.” They stop for a moment.

”Here, let me lead,” Grantaire orders and lets his hand travel from Enjolras shoulder to his waist. Enjolras looks at him for a moment before nodding and putting his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.

With Grantaire as the lead the dance goes a little smoother, but after awhile they stop trying to actually dance properly and just move back and forth to the music instead. He’s not entirely sure how it happened but they are much closer now, and what started out as playful and quite frankly terrible dancing, feels like something much more intimate. He casts a glance around the room, but no one is paying any attention to them. Enjolras starts humming along with the melody and Grantaire closes his eyes for a few seconds. He thinks of the battle looming over them, and of how Enjolras is the only one who could ever convince him that there’s something worth risking their lives for. Tonight he has the complete opposite effect. Grantaire can only imagine all the reasons they have to live. An unwelcome image pops into his mind. The battle is over, or maybe it never happened. In the image it doesn’t matter. Grantaire and Enjolras are sharing an apartment. It’s one right across the street from the Musain. He can see the sign outside the window. They’re studying in bed, but Enjolras leans closer to Grantaire, crumpling some sheets of paper in his path and presses a kiss to Grantaire’s lips. A big law book is soon pushed of the bed and onto the floor, but neither one of them seem to care at all.

”What are you thinking about?” Grantaire shudders and opens his eyes. Enjolras voice brings him back to reality, where the other man’s lips aren’t occupied with kissing Grantaire’s. A reality where Grantaire’s fantasy will never be their future, and still, this is probably as close as they will ever get to that fantasy.

It takes some effort to speak. ”I’m just... really happy right now.”

The word ”happy” is nowhere near describing what Grantaire feels. It’s too much and too little at once, because he can’t imagine anywhere he’d rather be, and still why would that even matter when they’re standing on the brink of the unknown darkness of the future, and all of this, the little world they have built around their cause, that Grantaire has built around Enjolras, is made of glass and will shatter into a thousand pieces any day now. Even if they are victorious, it will never be the same again, because they can’t all make it out of this alive. To expect that would be foolish. This moment is a perfect fragile shard of time.

Grantaire can’t find words to express his thoughts, and it scares him for some reason that Enjolras will never know just how precious that shard is to him.

”I love you,” he breaths and he half hopes it’s so low that Enjolras won’t hear him, but he had to say it, because if he hadn’t said it he would probably have regretted it for the rest of his short miserable life. A few seconds pass and then Enjolras meets Grantaire’s gaze.

”I know.” Grantaire’s breath catches in his throat and he knows that this is the moment when Enjolras pulls away, because that was the voice of someone who knew exactly what kind of love Grantaire was referring to.

Grantaire is prepared for Enjolras to pull away. What he isn’t prepared for is him leaning in even closer, letting his gaze trace Grantaire’s lips. Grantaire’s heartbeat quickens and he can feel his hand on Enjolras waist tremble and cling onto the fabric of his jacket, as if it weren’t for Enjolras he might fall, when it in fact is Enjolras who’s causing him to stumble in the first place.

Enjolras lips brushes against his cheek first, and for a moment they’re just breathing the same air. The music has stopped along with everything else. There is nothing except the warmth of Enjolras breath, his soft lips, his hand moving from Grantaire’s shoulder to run through his dark curls, his eyes meeting Grantaire’s in the dim light from almost burnt out candles. And then Enjolras turns his head so that his lips brush against Grantaire’s in a kiss. There’s something in the kiss that tells Grantaire that Enjolras isn’t doing this to be kind. He needs this as much as Grantaire needs it and it is breathtaking.

When they break apart Enjolras looks troubled, like this was not what he had meant to happen at all. Grantaire doesn’t understand. He can’t remember ever feeling such joy, but Enjolras doesn’t meet his gaze.

”You do understand...” he starts, but he doesn’t seem to be able to finish his sentence. Grantaire doesn’t understand, and then he sees something in Enjolras’ eyes that isn’t pity exactly, but maybe a helpless apology. And then he does understand. Grantaire loves Enjolras, and Enjolras loves him, but that doesn’t change anything. Enjolras will not be careful, he will not be thinking of a future with the both of them in it. This one kiss, their first and their last is all they’ll ever have, and that is the way it should be. What do their trivial feelings matter, when the liberty and happiness of an entire nation is on the line?

Enjolras moves away through the room before Grantaire can think to stop him. On his way out he brushes past a table full of empty bottles, and one of them falls to the floor and breaks. The sound consumes the whole room. It’s the sound of glass shattering into a thousand pieces.


End file.
